Today, I continue with my celebration of Advent considering the people who were on the path to the birth of Christ . As I settled in and read through the birth narrative in the book of Luke, I noticed a profound difference in the questions Zechariah and Mary ask to the angel, Gabriel. In hearing from Gabriel that his elderly wife will give birth to a son who will pave the path for the Savior of the world, Zechariah asks, “How can I be sure of this?”. Meanwhile, when Gabriel tells Mary she will conceive a Son, her response is, “How can this be since I am a virgin?” Do you spot the difference? Zechariah’s question comes from a place of fear. He doubts the truth the angel shares. He wants certainty, proof! Mary, on the other hand, questions from a place of curiosity. Mary and her curiosity is where I dwell today.
For fun, I added my voice recording my written poem:
O curious one,
you, the delightful —
the one who doesn’t
gulp others’ words receiving them as your own.
Rather, you slowly sip,
muse over the how, the wonder, the what could be.
Hello, twinkle toes, you
the twirler and dancer of the earth,
banners of color flash with every spring you make.
Stardust speckles precede your entrance
followed by your eager look.
When told to plainly gaze at the stars,
you stand on your tippy toes and grab a glorious gleam.
You, daring, reach for the stars to feel the haze of black sky
against your skin and the buzz of golden glitter on your finger.
When told not to get near the fire,
you, risky, toss kindling toward the heat to smell the smoky air,
watch sparks ignite. When they do, your insides jump and
connect you with energy beyond yourself.
Don’t deny it. It’s beautiful and true.
You are the one who dives deep into the ocean of your heart,
not looking for answers,
but to live with abandon, to experience facets of self anew,
to swim among the rainbow coral and learn from the murky shadows.
You, not satisfied with black and white certainties
learning from even the zebra who ponders,
“Am I black with white stripes or white with black stripes?”
Yes, you are on a search for —not fifty—
but, rather —infinity— shades of gray
asking questions after God’s presence —
Is the light here? Or here?
Do I need to spin to the right or hop to the left?
You persevere, not satisfied with others’ answers,
but on a search for your own burning blaze,
asking about the seed of divinity within, the One
which leads your reputation to be questioned
and your life path altered in strange ways.
When you encounter one who points to the divine,
you let their words turn to honey sweetening your soul,
And, you braveheart,
are the brazen strand who boldly proclaims,
“Here I am, let it be to me as you have said.”
This poem is dedicated to my dear friend, Kristen, who models curiosity in wonderful ways.